Reflections
by Kaeera
Summary: Fanfiction to Paul Auster's 'Moon Palace'. While driving to the cemetery, Solomon thinks about his life, and about Marco. One-Shot.


**Disclaimer: **'Moon Palace' and the characters I used in this one-shot belong to Paul Auster, one of the best English authors I know. I own nothing than the way these wors are put together, and no profit is made with this story.

I don't know if this can be considered fanfiction or not...it was a homework in English class; we should rewrite a part of the novel in the Point of View of another person. I chose the POV Solomon at the cemetery, near the end of the book. I really like the style of this and that's why I decided to post it - although I doubt that somebody will read it. Just to inform you, Moon Palace is one of the great topics in my English examinations (I'm German, as you can read in my bio).

**SPOILER WARNING** - If you haven't read the book yet or are in process of reading, you shouldn't read this story, because a lot of things are mentioned which appear later in the story.

By the way, the sentences Solomon says are taken directly from the novel.

* * *

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Reflections

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_by Kaeera_

When I and the boy left the motel, I couldn't help feeling depressed. I wondered if he suspected anything; did he know that I was his father? Probably not, judging from the way he was acting. Maybe it was better that way, although my heart ached to tell him the truth.  


When we drove around searching for a flower shop, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eyes, again surprised at the fact how alike he and Emily were. I could see the delicate features of my one and only love mirrored in his face – and it pained me to look at it.   


Emily. My Emily.   


And now I was on my way to see her grave.

  
I suppose that I wasn't a very good company on our trip to the cemetery, but I couldn't bring myself to have a decent conversation. Even when we took the wrong way and drove through a part of the city we had never seen before, I didn't say anything. I know that Marco thought it was strange; for him I was a stranger after all, and I shouldn't care about his mother so much. 

Maybe I should have stopped the car at that very moment. Maybe I should have told him the truth – but I chickened out and stayed silent. Who knows, if I had told him…well, then everything would have ended differently. But that was in the past, it's over, and although I regret the mistakes I made – and there have been many of them – I can't change it now.

  
After many wrong turns, we reached the cemetery at last and walked through the peaceful scenery. The calm air of the graveyard was disturbed by a couple of men who were digging a hole not far away – a grave for another person. I watched them with a far-away look on my face, wondering who the person was who had died and if there was anybody who felt the same pain as me and Marco. Then, they left, and we were finally alone, standing in front of Emily's grave.

  
I stared at the gravestone, stared at the grey material and the name imprinted on it. Emily Fogg. And suddenly, I started crying. I can't remember what the boy did at that very moment, but I sobbed like I never had before. It was as if suddenly all dams broke and I remembered everything about the only woman in my life I had ever truly loved.   


I don't know how long I stood there, remembering every little detail about her, every curve of her body, her smile, and her bright, intelligent eyes. It could have been mere minutes or days, I'm not sure about it. The only thing I know is that suddenly Marco – Emily's son, my son, my family – turned around to look at me. He must have been surprised to see me crying, because he asked me what I was doing. But I didn't listen to him. I think I didn't even register his words; I only wept, stuttering incoherent sentences.

  
"Emily…" Or something like that, Marco told me later about it. "My darling little Emily…Look at you now…If only you hadn't run away…If only you'd let me love you…Sweet, darling, little Emily….It's all such a waste, such a terrible waste…" 

  
I believe I continued like this, but when I finally looked up at Marco, I saw understanding dawning in his eyes. He looked at me with different eyes, and suddenly his expression changed from one of sadness to one of anger.

  
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, and his voice sounded aggressive, like I had never heard him before.

  
I couldn't face him. How should I? He was my son, and I hadn't told him the truth. I had lied to him, and thus, I had destroyed his trust. So I stayed silent, saying nothing at all.  
He became even angrier because I didn't reply, and then he shoved me, using all his energy to push me away from him. It hurt physically, but the emotional pain was far worse.  
"What are you talking about?" he raged. "Say something, you big bag of guts, say something or I'll smash you in the mouth."

  
Marco never was the violent type, but at this moment, he seemed to be able to beat me to a whimpering puddle on the floor. He was angry beyond measure, and every attempt to talk to him in a calm manner was immediately doomed from the start. So I simply shook my head, unable to prevent the words from tumbling out of my mouth.  
"Jesus, God, Marco, did you have to bring me here? Didn't you know this would happen?"

  
It was stupid of me, very stupid, since I had done the best to hide the truth from him so far. But back then at the cemetery, I was so blinded by grief that I couldn't think logically anymore.

  
"Know!" he shouted, his eyes full of burning, demonic anger. "How the hell was I supposed to know? You never said a thing, you liar!" Marco screamed, insulted me, accused me, ranting as if he never intended to stop, and in the end, I couldn't bear it any more. I stumbled backwards, trying to escape the shadows of my past, trying to escape the person I had hurt deeply – trying to run away. 

  
The next moments were a blur, and if anyone asked me to retell the exact details, I wouldn't be able to. Everything happened so fast that it's like the memory of a dream.  
I backed away, Marco screamed at me, and then I suddenly lost my footing. I tumbled backwards, felt the rush of the air around my body, and saw the blue sky, stretching enormously above me. For a few seconds, time seemed to stop and all I could do was stare at this intensive blue, this wonderful sky – and then reality came back with a sudden force. I landed on the ground, heard a loud thud, and suddenly everything went black.

* * *

  
  
When I awoke, I found myself in the hospital. And more than that, I realized that I was unable to move, for my body was in traction. My senses were dulled by the drugs, and my vision was blurred. I couldn't even turn my head!

  
But deep in my heart, I felt relieved. Finally, the truth had been revealed, although it had been in a very unpleasant way. Marco wasn't angry with me anymore, I noticed that from the amount of time he spent with me. He was always there, helped me, talked with me, and whenever I woke up, he would cast me a small, shy smile. He had accepted me as a friend again, and maybe even as a father, and that thought alone gave me the strength to continue. 

I remember very clearly what I told him one day: "My bones might be broken," I explained to him, "but my heart is finally on the mend." And then I told him the whole story, my life, every single mistake I did, every moment I spent with his mother. He listened to me, all the time, and I think it's because of the stories we shared that we became incredibly close in that time.

  
What I had told him was true. Finally I was able to deal with Emily's death. It was as if a new life had started for me with this accident, a whole new share of opportunities. I wouldn't give up, I would start a new life, with Marco by my side, with the child of the woman I loved, with my son. Although I was immobilized to the degree that I couldn't even turn my head, this prospect of the future helped me to overcome all those physical obstacles. I started to become better, and even the doctors were optimistic. I had lost a lot of weight, due to the way of nourishing me via tubes, but I accepted this as another chance to change myself.

  
And that's where I am now. In the hospital, waiting for my cast to be removed. A few more weeks, the doctors told me, a few more weeks and I will be able to move again. Then I can start my new life. What obstacles will be awaiting me? What experiences will I and Marco gather? I can't tell, but I am looking forward to it.

  
A slight cough rises in my throat, when I think of my and Marco's possible future, and I try to suppress it. A cold is the last thing I need right now, and yet I have the same light-headed feeling which gets me every time I have an infection…  



End file.
